Orc Queen
by the mediocre writer
Summary: A woman from our world finds her fate among the orcs, the tormented race of Middle Earth. And though she's saved by elves, she finds that her destiny isn't with the one she comes to love, but with the race she alone seems to understand. LegolasxOC.
1. The Pages Unwritten

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Lord of the Rings or Morgan Howell's novel, Orc Queen. (And as I am a big fan of him I do apologize for taking his title, but it was just too perfect not to use.)

First, this story is going to be a bit uncanon. I say a bit only because I will be using Tolkien's second theory on how orcs came into being. Basically, it states that orcs were once elves who were tortured and corrupted by evil.

Second, the story begins _in medias res_ which is why the conversations that happen in this chapter may be a little deeper than normal.

Third, this is a girl falls into ME story, but I do hope you consider giving it a try since, in this author's humble opinion, it is not so cliche. For one, it takes place after the war of the ring but before all the elves leave Middle Earth.

Lastly, if you are put off by religion this is just a warning for you. It will play a role and it's a part of the plot. It's not huge and I won't Bible-thump or anything silly like that, but Tolkien did write LOTR and because of his own Catholic beliefs religion played a key role in his story concepts. (Then again I am sure everyone knows that.) I don't know, it just kind of makes sense that I would include it too, you know. It's kind of like a tip of my metaphorical hat to him. Anyway...

Now that paperwork is over,  
>Enjoy!<p>

**Orc Queen**

Lembas was not what she considered food but more of a cheap cracker. Staring at the Elvin bread so politely offered every night since she came to be with them, Anne was deeply aware of three sets of elfish eyes trained on her as she ate. The waif dissolved on her tongue much like cotton candy would. She never liked cotton candy, but unlike the sugar spun treat Anne had to force herself to swallow the bread. It was either that or starve, but more than anything she didn't want to be rude by refusing to eat.

She wondered what was wrong with her pallet. Lembas bread in the novels was described as delicious, but for her the texture was too bizarre. It was too strange, too light to be filling yet it filled her, and she much preferred the food Murhka had served her. These elves were more vegetarian in their tastes, but compared to orcs most people could be considered vegetarian.

"It's good," she said at last looking from elf to elf. As they looked away, their seeming curiosity satisfied, Anne held in a breath of relief. It was unnerving to be watched eating, especially if the ones doing the watching were extremely beautiful and very much inhuman. And though she had long stopped standardizing her own beauty against that of others, Anne couldn't help but wish that she was outrageously beautiful in their company. An elf's beauty was impossible to ignore, and Tolkien's words did the race absolutely no justice. No words she imagined could and her vocabulary was rather vast.

Regarding the trio of male elves once more, Anne felt a pang of longing for orc company. Her heart clenched painfully in her chest and she squeezed her hands together as an image of Baghrad flashed in her mind. How strange was she to miss the company of orcs? What manner of human was she?

Anne dug her fingers into the material of her pants but stopped when she felt three pairs of eyes on her again. Looking up, she smiled slightly.

"Is something troubling you, my lady?" Elrohir queried his handsome, bright features soft and concerned.

Anne shook her head. "I'm just thinking. Don't mind me." The handsome elf nodded and turned his attention to his brother Elladan who flashed a quick smile. Glorfindel was the last elf to look away, but when he did it was as if a thousand pounds was lifted off her chest. His eyes were more penerating than the others, more intense in their color and shape, and he oftened regarded her a bit too closely.

Anne finished the rest of her lembas bread in one gulp, keeping her face from twisting in disgust as the bolus slithered down her throat. How did anyone eat this? Or maybe it was just her, maybe it would have been any one from her world, because food in general had a funny, different taste than what she expected. Even what the orcs fed her before and after her enslavement was never very delightful to her pallet.

Anne closed her eyes. It didn't matter, did it? As long as she could continue to live she could deal with funny tastes. She would have killed for a bacon cheeseburger though, or maybe sweet and sour chicken with fried rice and those crunchy cream puffs that cheap Chinese places tried to pull off as authentic. The last thought pulled a tiny giggle from her lips.

Three pairs of eyes were on her once more.

"Erm, sorry."

Glorfindel shook his head, and the movement enhanced the golden hue of his hair. "Do not apologize. It gladdens my heart to hear you laugh."

"Yeah, okay." Anne said unsure of how to reply.

The golden haired elf regarded her momentarily before going back to his food and quietly conversing with the twin elves. She knew they were Elrond's sons from what she remembered of the books. It was funny how she only just learned to pronounce their names despite knowing of them for years. Elvish words and names pronunciations were difficult for her to grasp – they were much too fluid and musical. She much preferred the orcs' Black Speech.

The four of them finished their meals in silence and it was only when Glorfindel stood and held out his hand to her that they all began to move.

"Come," he offered with his soft voice, not completely male or female in quality, and very much not human. Anne stared at his hand. When she made no move to rise his voice softened. "I will do you no harm, my lady."

He did not say it, but the implication was there. _I will not hurt you like the orcs_. Anne felt herself heat and bit back an angry retort, his silent words stinging her.

What would happen if she defended the Orcs? She was no coward, but what could she say to someone who hunted orcs and, she didn't want to think it, but hunted them for good reason? There was no outward hatred, he did not even say their name, but Anne felt herself clamp shut. Mordor ruined the person she'd once been and she clung onto the only thing, the only creatures she had come to trust. The orcs. Her family.

"I know you will not." Anne wiped her hands on her loose, dirty pants to keep her silence. "But I am capable of walking without your assistance. There are no mountains or dangerous looking hills. We're in a flat forest, I'll manage, but if there are any dangerous looking roots I will consider calling upon your aid."

There might have been a slight quirk of a smile on Glorfindel's face, but she was certain that one of the twins snorted. Glorfindel bowed to her. "Very astute, but I shall make sure when we do arrive at any such dangerous impediments I will be there to assist you."

His meaning went unspoken: He wanted to keep an eye on her. They did not trust her. It was natural and she did not blame them.

Anne wanted to laugh, to be as open and friendly as she remembered herself to be, but here with this race she felt open and naked. She'd been ripped away from the orcs, a people she felt comfortable amongst, into a race that was considerate and kind to less pigmented humans, weary of darker, but the enemy of her adopted family. If she were to make one wrong move it would be over.

Her skin was not light like theirs, not like the Gondorians or the Rohrrims, but olive hued. They were already weary of her because of her skin color. They were kind to offer assistance, their innate goodness would not allow them otherwise, but if they knew who she was and whom she was associated with they would not understand. She was unwilling to take a chance and think they would.

In the end, Anne chose not to say anything and followed Glorfindel to a small stream where he told her in the most inoffensive yet efficient fashion that she could use this time to relieve herself of any physical discomfort. If he thought she would take offense or be embarrassed, of which Anne was neither, his surprise went unnoticed and he left her with an "I will be near".

Quickly relieving herself, Anne looked towards the river not yet ready for the elf's company.

The solitude was lonely. Orc camp fires could be heard for miles on good nights, safe nights where they would camp where no other race would dare to go in the dark. They were wild and reckless, filled with fighting and roaring of all types. More so after the war when they knew no human or elf was near. This silence was terrifying, the elves were terrifying, and as much as she wanted to throw herself in the river and float away Anne knew that she was safer with a group of elves then alone.

The idea loomed in the back of her mind as she padded lightly into the river. It was shallow as far as she could see in the moonlight, but she refrained from wadding any deeper. The cold current wrapped around her ankles gripping them in a soft, yielding hold. Moonlight play along the ripples bouncing off indiscernible objects. She breathed in the cold, textured air from the nearby mountains and felt her muscles uncoil and thoughts wander to places better left untouched.

"God, please send me home."

It was neither the first time nor would it be the last she would ask, but just saying the words comforted her. The moon was wide and white, very different from how it appeared in her bright city, and she knew deep down that she would probably never see such a sight again. Maybe would never be able to go home. Her place was here. For some reason, she belonged here. For how long or why she could not discern.

Home.

Anne wondered if time here was the same as over there. It was a thought that usually passed her mind. She'd lost count of how long she'd been in Middle Earth but she supposed that a little over two years had passed. A tight feeling gripped her heart. Two years. Her parents, her friends, everything gone, ripped away that strange night some two years ago.

The pain had eased because she remained focus on the future, but at times when she let the thought linger the edge of strained pain was still present. For her family, for her own sanity Anne was determined to persist. She had to move on and try to be happy, but doing that was much harder than she ever expected.

The river churned and swirled in the dark and the sound of lapping waves pulled her deep into a memory.

Anak's ugly face swam before her.

_"Break!" A harsh, hoarse growl shouted into the purple air of Mordor._

_Everyone stopped, fell to their knees or leaned against whatever was near, and Anne awoke from the stillness of her mind. She let herself sink down to the pliant earth digging her bleeding hands into the semi-fertile soil and breathed in the smell of Mordor. The scent of death around her was too much to bear. _

_The smell of earth, the smell of black fresh water, was pleasant enough to overcome the others. Sweat dripped down her nose and sunk into the ground. Her chest heaved unsteadily with rapid breath. She felt more than saw people stepping around her, their avoidance a particular cut in her side, as they left the fields. She could barely stand and yet they did not wander near her._

_Above her the clouds rumbled with either thunder or the strange magic fire from Mount Doom she'd often see at night. Exhausted she stood and walked back towards the slave camp but did not stay after she received her meager meal of bread and water. _

_She found her place in a shady corner of the fenced camp and sat against the wood. It rose twenty meters above her and along the upper edges there were planks that orcs could patrol and watch. What she liked best about them was that they provided shade, and since trees were sparse the planks were welcomed._

_"Mag'har," a familiar orc voice called out. Anne turned at the name and found an unwilling smile come to her lips. _

_"Commander Anak," Anne whispered in acknowledgement placing a piece of hard bread into her mouth. It cut the roof of her mouth. "How are you this fine day?" It was both sarcastic and truthful and Anne did not look up at the orc as she spoke. _

_"You are sad." He said not kindly or cruelly, but his horrible voice was cold and the Black Speech he used was more so. His yellow eyes pierced her skin, and she tried her best not to show him the effect he had on her. But he knew, he must have known. _

_Orcs were portrayed as stupid in the novels she read as a teenager, but many were not what one would consider dull. They were different. They viewed things differently, thought out things slowly, but were far from dimwitted. They were good at sensing sadness, hatred, and loneliness and were called to it almost as if like bred like and misery attracted misery. _

_"Yes, very." Anne answered honestly pushing back the hair from her face. In front of orcs, Anne never had a reason to lie. They didn't care one way or the other._

_"Sad but you smile." Anne nodded again straining to understand his Black Speech usage. "You make no sense, Mag'har. Tell me why you smile."_

_"It's hard to explain, Commander." She replied in his language, and he dug his booted foot into her side painfully, a sign of a threat. Colors exploded across her eyes as he picked her up only to throw her roughly back down._

_Anne knew he would do nothing more than push her to the ground, but the fear still tingled down her spin. It hurt, but it wouldn't kill her. Still, being knocked to the ground was not pleasant. _

_"I smile because frowning won't make me feel better." Anne chewed on her bread feigning indifference to her throbbing body._

_"You could kill one of the other men," he said as if were the easiest thing to think of. "I would not care, and they do not like you."_

_"Does killing make you feel better? I don't think it would make me feel better about this." She said motioning around her. _

_Talking with Orcs was like trying to explain the ideals of vegetarianism to a lion. They did not mix, and strangely she could not blame them. _

_Their natures were different, and she was willing to be open to them so she could try to relate, to understand. Knowledge was power, and besides what else was she to do when her own kind hated her? If trying to relate to an orc was a sin then so be it, because she would rather do that than do nothing but hate them. Hate only birthed misery._

_"There is no such thing as __feeling better __for us Orcs, Mag'har," Anak explained, but his words were hard to get a hold on and she had to struggle to understand him. She blinked up at him as he stared at her with his large yellow eyes, protruding and bug-like. "There is only what there is to do. If we hate, we kill. Simple."_

_"I wonder if life can be so easy." He did not answer her immediately but when she did there was a strange note in his horrible voice. _

_"We hate, and that is all. Hate is simple and easy."_

_"Hate is easy," Anne agreed with a shrug. "But why chose hate, why not freedom?"_

_And then Anak laughed long and hard and spoke in a way that she never heard any Orc speak. _

_"Can you be free with the other slaves who hate you?" _

Anak.

His words struck a cord in her that day so long ago. Who could be free in a world such as that? What the orcs faced was much greater than her own problems and yet they persisted as they always did. Their souls were indomitable almost in their ability to push forward be it evil or not.

That day she began to understand them more than she would have liked, but that knowledge had proved invaluable. It helped her survive with them before and after the war when the other humans tried to hurt or abandon her. Not that she could blame them. They had been scared and out of their minds after months and years of torture, of living in the shadow of Mount Doom, and unlike the orcs, so used to darkness, most of the humans couldn't cope. She had barely remained sane.

Yes, compared to others her troubles were nothing. She was human, a darker skinned one, but human nonetheless and could survive in this world. Orcs would forever be hunted down like animals, unable to be free or have a moment's peace. She had a choice - she could be free, but that freedom itself would be difficult to grasp.

Anak's face and countless others swam before her vision.

"God, help them." The prayer escaped from her lips before Anne could stop herself.

"God," a luminous voice, for there was no other way to describe it, spoke softly behind her. Turning she saw Glorfindel leaning against a tree, looking at her with that unwavering, deep expression Anne had come to associate him with. "What is god?"

Despite herself, Anne felt a familiar quirk in her lips. "I'm not too sure myself." She felt suddenly mysterious, puzzling. When he looked at her, his beautiful face was titled and his eyes were steadily focused on her. She turned away.

"I do not have much contact with humans," Glorfindel shared pointedly, almost apologetically stepping closer to the river's edge. He held out a pale hand to her. "Do you often speak to yourselves?"

Anne walked back up the small slope of the river bank. "We all do at times," and she replied lightly.

"Ah," he breathed noticing her distance from himself. "And do you speak to this god often?"

Anne bent her head down and kneeled on the river bank. She reached into the cold spring fed river and felt the slippery moss on rocks. "Do you always ask so many questions?"

"Only when I am uninformed." Glorfindel answered without hesitation. "Is this not the same for you?"

It was. Ever since she was a child what came out of her mouth most was questions. She thought in questions and rarely had answers, but she would not say that to him.

Her reflection was a shadow on the water compared to Glorfindel. The elf beside her glowed and radiated confidence and peace. Anne had force herself to remain wary, to not trust these elves though she knew, without a doubt, she could because they would be good to her so long as she remained honest with them. Honestly was hard for her especially as lies became easier to spin and tell, especially since she knew they wouldn't understand why she chose to remain with orcs. Thankfully, she was able to play off lies as easily as truth. Her memory was long, her stories sort and direct. Lying was too easy at times.

Anne turned away from him feeling herself uncoil, a desire to actually speak with Glorfindel rising up within her. She felt momentarily like that girl she had once been.

"God is Eru, but it is much more complicated than that."

"Eru is Eru, what is there to question?"

She shook her head, but the simplicity of his statement caught her attention. "It is that simple," Anne agreed, "and it is that difficult. I come from a very different place with very different views on Eru."

"Such as?" She turned to look at him. His face was thoughtful and interested. He smiled encouragingly. "I am always interested in hearing about Eru."

"Well," Anne said stretching out of the water. "That's good to know. At least, we have a topic to talk about. That's something I guess." She smiled trying to be polite, funny even though she was not sure if he would catch her dry sarcasm.

Then the elf did something unexpected. He threw back his head and laughed, loudly. His golden hair glowed in the moonlight, his skin softly illuminating the ground, the brush, and trees around him, and inexplicably Anne felt the gap between them widen.

Glorfindel was almost too beautiful. She remembered a Bible story: when Moses visited God in the form of a burning bush he grew older each time as if his body could not stand the presence of such power. She did not care if the story was allegory or truth, she felt as if her body grew weak and old in this elf's presence. He was too bright, too intense, too real.

"You do not seem so excited about finding that we share something in common." He said noticing her faraway eyes.

Anne stepped out of the water. "Why?" she shot back not unkindly. "Are you?"

He held out a pale yet golden hand to help her out of the muddy embankment for the second time, but she shook her head and trudged to the top. "I have to say that I am." He smiled gently. "We can speak of our beliefs while we travel. It will ease the boredom of long days."

Anne looked away from the golden lord. The forest was dark and she was not quite sure of the path they had taken. It was somewhere off to the right, and she was sure she could find it but she let Glorfindel lead the way. His softly glowing figure was easy to follow.

She was about to bite out that she would prefer not to discuss personal beliefs before she could stop herself. She didn't want to be a big jerk. Smile, be pleasant, be funny and clever and gain their trust. It was just much easier to be contrary, too ingrained into her nature for her to ignore, but Anne managed to do so.

"You are so very quite." Glorfindel commented slowing down his gait and walking next to her. He looked at her with silver green eyes, like an emerald river in moonlight, his face no longer laughing but neutral and serious at the same time. "Are you well?"

"I could just be quiet person." she returned quickly her dark eyes piercing his silver green ones.

"No," he shook his head, his voice firm and confident. "Your eyes say much." At her questioning glance he explained further. "You have laughing eyes."

"Excuse me?" Glorfindel was looking at her intently.

"Your eyes," he began his fingers waving before them. "I see much laughter in them, yet I am an old elf and I feel more aptly than most of my kind. I know you have much sorrow but even still..." His expression darkened and his voice deepened. "For one so young you hide much, Anne."

Her real name. Not my lady. Anne swallowed and prayed that that was all he saw, that he didn't see her lies or fear.

"It's natural to be sad about many things, but life is too short to waste on sorrow." Anne found herself saying dryly, a smile playing along her lips.

He nodded. "These past days you have been with us I've see you look at everything around you, even me," he admitted sounding a little put off, "with the slightest trace of humor. Humans are indeed strange, so emotional and yet so emotionally detached."

"Some more so than others," Anne whispered under her breath. "Is it not the same for elves? Are you always not so composed?"

Glorfindel fell silent for a moment before speaking. "When we are young are emotions rule us, and it is a struggle to master them. Elves feel the pull of our emotions strongly, more strongly than humans do." At this he fell silent for a moment. "I have lived long and have mastered my emotions, but even still I am not as apt as I would wish. That is why I find you young humans who can control such powerful emotions, as I know they are for you, astounding."

"Where I come from people would call me indifferent." Anne replied scratching her head, unsure if he was complimenting her or just commenting.

He grinned. "You have that mocking look in your eyes again."

"I sound like a terribly disagreeable person." She teased.

"Not at all, my lady."

When they got back to camp, Anne quickly said her goodnights and made her way over to her pallet. She stared up at the moon for a long time, unable to rest, because her thoughts.

Anak.

Her family.

Her laughing eyes.

She wondered what would happen to her once they reached Rivendell, what she would say to Elrond or if she would say anything at all. It had been years and she never once revealed her true origin. Did it really even matter anymore? The war was over, the fellowship disbanded, Aragon now rightfully king, and she had no great knowledge of what happened now.

The future was unwritten and she was lost within it's pages.


	2. Natural Law

**Standard disclaimer applies. **I can't promise that all updates will come this quickly, but I do hope this chapter isn't too cheesy and that Anne's personality doesn't seem so very different from the first chapter, which I have to admit, was a little angsty.

(Like the last chapter this one is unbeta-ed. Sorry for any mistakes.)

Thank you for your kind reviews,  
>Enjoy!<p>

**Orc Queen**

_"The trick is to never show your fear," Christopher whispered to her. _

_The lion in the pen lazed around on its back, kicking its feet up and down as if dreaming of running. Her friend laughed at the scene._

_"Never forget they can over power you at any time. They were born to be wild and free, unattached to logic or reason. You must always show your dominance because they know instinctively when the alpha becomes the omega."_

_"Never show your fear," Anne had repeated pressing her fingers onto the glass of the pen, "the rules of a pack."_

_"The best kind of rules," Christopher nodded, a smart funny expression on his face, "are the rules everyone in natural world, humans and animals alike, are able to understand."_

Anne woke from the dream just as the sun was beginning to rise in the east. The forest was covered by a thin layer of mist and her hair and cloths were damp, but she was cool and comfortable despite the moisture.

Lying back down she tried to enjoy the relative peace and relaxation the moment offered. They would be up and moving in just a little over an hour, another endless day of walking, but despite the beauty of their world Anne wished for her banana yellow Renault 5.

Christopher would have chosen some crazy, old motorcycle. He had always been the trendy, out of this world, retro type of guy. The type who said he was going to go for a walk and came back two months later with some amazing story of how he was picked up by a traveling circus and learned how to play trashcans for money. He started working with lions about three years before she disappeared, and the dream had been one of the last memories she had of him, of his lions and his rules.

How true they ended up becoming for her. If he could have seen her now he just might have been proud.

"You are up early, Lady Anne."

Anne sighed into the cool mist, the celestial voice so very familiar now. "I had a dream."

Turning her head to the side, she was able to spot Glorfindel leaning against a large tree. She could just make out his profile, his long beautiful neck and the elegant turn of his body.

"A dream?" he asked softly.

He wished for her to continue. The suggestion was in his voice, in the dramatic arch a single brow. Anne smiled. In the weeks since she began traveling with the trio of elves, she had become more accustomed to them.

Their beauty no longer alienated her. She couldn't say she was completely comfortable with them, but she considered them friends. They were quieter, less rambunctious than her orcs, but she could appreciate their calmer manners. Even so, the ease which she had felt with the orcs never settled in with the elves. No, it couldn't settle in. Not with her secret past, her connections, her own beliefs about their sworn enemies.

Anne returned to her prone position on her back, lifting her arms above herself and her head, stretching. The feeling of her muscles expanding, her joints tensing and popping felt wonderful in the cool mist.

"It was nothing serious."

Glorfindel crossed his arms, his eyes returning to some distant point far off in the plains below the forest where they made camp. "Dreams hold significant meaning and are powerful tools for looking inside oneself. Do Easterlings not believe this?"

"We don't really talk about dreams." Anne lied. She had very little knowledge of the Easterling cultures, but most people assumed because of her skin color and build that she was one of their ilk and she never corrected them. While not a great ethnic group to be a part of in Middle Earth in the present times, her appearance couldn't be helped and it was much easier than the truth.

He was silent but Anne felt as if he wanted her to say something more. He pushed her in small ways to share over the past few weeks they'd been traveling together. Anne both resented and craved it; a part of her, the old part of her, wanted nothing more than to talk about everything and anything, but the new her, the one which embrace caution and silence, made her hesitate and stall. She was stuck between two worlds, two selves. The self that protected her throughout the years she been trapped here in this world, and the self which radiated with life and hope.

The further away she was from Mordor, the more she felt the old her start to bubble and rise and the less safe she felt. Anne wanted to laugh. For some reason Mordor, the place of her imprisonment for so many months, was the place she felt the safest. Along the coast of the Sea of Nurnen, with the black water and white tipped waves, the purple tinted air, the fire in the clouds that was no longer there...how pathetic. It was like the old saying went: better is the old enemy than the new.

Nevertheless, the new she had to face to survive. And she would survive. She had done so from much worst.

"I dreamed about my friend. He worked with large beasts that were similar but more beautiful than wargs." She paused to glance at Glorfindel. He was looking at her again, his gaze calm and politely interested. "He was telling me about the rules of animals, of nature."

"Rules?"

"Never show fear." Anne reiterated Christopher's words. "Animals know when the alpha becomes the omega."

"Alpha and omega?" They sounded strange on Glorfindel's music voice. "I have never heard those words before. What do they mean?"

There was _no _reason for him to have heard Latin words. "They aren't of the common tongue. They come from a very old language meaning first and last, the beginning and the end."

"What is this old language?"

Anne bit her lips. "I don't know the name."

Glorfindel shifted silently against the tree. "Strange, maybe Erestor has heard of them." She didn't ask about Erestor or who he was. She already knew, but Glorfindel, ever polite, explained. "He is one of the lords who reside in Imladris and chief counselor to Lord Elrond, you will meet him when we arrive."

"He is also not very amusing." Elrohir cut in as he'd been listening to the conversation and was now no longer able to contain himself.

"Aye," Elladan agreed joining the conversation as well. "More scholar than warrior, but decent enough in battle."

Glorfindel turned to the twins who rose from their pallets and started packing. "Do not take Erestor's skills with a sword lightly, my friends."

Elladan chuckled. "I fear the bite of his wit more than his sword."

"Very true, brother, do you remember those early lessons in arithmetic?" Elrohir pretended to shiver in fear.

"I recall the both of you running off into the woods." Glorfindel laughed. "Erestor never failed to send me after the two of you as he had more _'important matters to deal with'_. Your sister was never so difficult."

Before she could stop herself, Anne voiced her own opinion. "What's wrong with math - I mean arithmetic? It's not that bad."

The trio of elves regarded her strangely and it was only then she realized her mistake. Women, especially human women, probably didn't learn how to read or write or do math. She was already going over the excuses in her mind for such a hiccup when Elrohir tapped her shoulder.

"You are educated?"

Too late to swallow her words now. "Somewhat. My father was an eccentric man, a type of Rena-" Anne held her tongue. That lie wouldn't work. They didn't know about the Renaissance. "He was a man with a wide range of interests and an avid teacher of whatever he learned."

Elladan laughed. "You are a strange mortal woman."

Elrohir scoffed. "You are barely acquainted with mortals, especially mortals of the female persuasion."

Anne felt herself ease as the conversation shifted to mortal women and then to elven women, and smiled when Glorfindel apologized to her with a meaningful glance. Anne walked up to him shaking her head.

"I don't mind their conversation. I guess men are the same no matter the race."

"And women?" Glorfindel inquired cocking his eyebrow. Anne mocked him by raising her own.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, my lord."

Another week passed and Anne felt herself become ever more familiar and comfortable with the elves. True, she was never the most talkative of their little rag tag group - well she was the only raggedy one, but conversation was more fluid and less stagnant and awkward.

Elrohir and Elladan never failed in their attempts in trying to rile her, but Glorfindel remained steadfast and calm next to her, a cornerstone of her new life. They in turn trusted her more with everyday that passed.

It was because of that trust she was _allowed_ to wander off by herself when they rested.

"How far are we from Rivendell?" Anne asked Elrohir after a long day of walking.

The elf shrugged. "Not more than four days or so. You are a fine walker for a human," he winked. "I thought when we found you it would take us at least two weeks more to reach home. Thankfully, you have proven me wrong, my lady."

Anne smirked at the backhanded compliment. Traveling with elves was a piece of cake compared to orc travel. At times, Anne found the elves' pacing rather lax and it grated on her nerves, but at the same time she really couldn't allow herself to do more. Questions would arise and questions required answers that she couldn't give.

It was strange really. Walking this much, at this pace, in her old life would have killed her - or brought on a serious case of vomiting and dehydration. Who knew spending almost a year enslaved followed by rigorous traveling was the best dieting option. Women everywhere would have paid a pretty penny for such a regiment, pain and loss aside.

"I will take that as a compliment," Anne replied rising from her crouching position, her mind slipping back to the present. She wiped her hands on her pant leg. "Is there a water source around here?" she asked looking at her dirty hands.

"There is a spring I heard towards the south." Elladan answered frowning over his shoulder. "It's a fair distance, but not too far as to be dangerous. Would you like some company?"

"No, but thank you. It's that direction, right?" Anne said pointing in the direction Elladan frowned at a moment before. "Just straight through the trees?"

He nodded. "A simple, straight walk, lady Anne." He paused as if he wanted to say more but shook his head as if he thought better of it. "Call us if you need anything. We will hear."

Anne patted his shoulder. "Exactly why it's better for me to be away. Tell Glorfindel not to worry when he comes back from scouting."

"Do not be surprised if he comes after you," Elladan warned with a smile. "He might even be upset with us for letting you wander about without an escort. Perhaps it is best if we avoid that fate." He mused regarding her with mock seriousness.

Anne wanted to snort - they were so chivalrous it made her want to snicker, but she appreciated the sentiment. If this had been in a fan fiction, now would have been the time to have stood up for women's rights, proclaimed to the heavens that women were equal to men and other such modern ideals of womanhood.

This wasn't a story though, this was real, and men and women were different, _obviously_. She was different. Despite having lived and traveled in this world for a little over two years now, she was still relatively new and more than that she wasn't stupid. She would have been an idiot to take her opinion rather than an elf who was centuries old and far more experienced.

"I won't be far, just straight through the woods, but I promise to yell really loud and run really fast if anything happens."

Elrohir laughed heartily, his dark hair slowing around him. "The maiden has sound reasoning, brother."

Elladan smiled flicking her ear. "Strange woman, be off with you then."

Anne was proud of that fact that she refrained from saluting the elf and saying _'aye, aye, captain'_, and even more proud that she found the spring with very little difficulty about ten minutes later.

The forest was darkening in dust but even with her poor eyesight, even by human standards, she managed to stumble across the spring. It was small, shallow, and cold, but it did a fine job cleaning her hands and sweaty face. A bath would have to wait even if it had been at least a week and a half since her last one. How gross did she smell? The elves either had a horrible sense of smell or were too polite to say anything despite their relative cleanliness everyday. Anne was inclined to think it was the latter.

Sighing up at the trees a thought struck her like an arrow.

There was no one around, no one to stop her from doing what she wanted. A strange desire stung her heart.

She could leave.

She could run away back to the orcs. A human trying to find orcs - how ridiculous did that sound? "Very," she whispered to herself, but the urge remained, its beat steady in her heart, rising in tempo with every passing moment.

Looking down at the stream she noted its southbound flow. They were on higher ground and if she wanted she could make her way down to the plains and double back to south Dunland. All she had to do was trail the Misty Mountains. She could try to out run the elves, stick to the water, but they would catch her, right? She didn't have enough time.

Her feet moved towards the spring and she stood right on the edge. She could run. She could try. And then as suddenly as it came the feeling was gone leaving her shivering.

Walking to a large tree with a tangle of plump roots, Anne sat and leaned back against the rough tree bark and willed herself to relax. She couldn't just leave the elves, turn her back on their kindness. For now she had to stay with them.

One day she could leave and find the orcs again to at least tell them goodbye. Something in her pulled her to them, but the thought of talking to Elrond, of thinking that he could maybe help her was like ambrosia. She couldn't deny herself to chance, if not to go back home, then at least to understand why she was here.

And time was running out.

She had a vague memory, who knew if it was true or not, that he left two or three years after the war. Before, when she was with the orcs, she denied herself of thinking she would ever talk with him or Gandalf, but now she had the chance. Maybe she had a chance, but when the time came would she ask and reveal herself?

Anne turned her thoughts away from the future and focused on the sky above. The canopy was thick but she could make out part of the orange and purple sky and it reminded of camping trips she used to go on with her family.

Her mother would make corn bread and chili in their Dutch oven over the fire, her brother and sister and she would be searching for sticks to roast smores on, while her dad cracked really lame jokes at their expense. In a way, her family reminded her of orcs, hate and blood fighting aside. They were loud and lively, and for a moment Anne let herself dwell in her memories thinking that Glorfindel would soon be there to bring her back to camp.

But it wasn't the elf lord that brought her back to reality, it was the forest.

In the dim light, the trees and animals went quiet and still. She had been out in nature so long now that the stillness was like a slap in the face, and Anne knew enough to know that she wasn't alone.

Slowly she placed her hand against her boot where she kept her dagger, a gift from Anak after her enslavement, an orcish dagger beautiful and dark that she could show no one, and brought it out cautiously. Her breathing she was glad to note remained even, but her heart was a different story all together.

_Mag'har._

A voice on the wind, thin and haunting. Anne thought she was hallucinating.

_Mag'har._

Anne stood and turned around, her dagger out. "W-Who's there? How do you know that name?"

_The pure, the uncorrupted one. That is your name, Mag'har. Peace be with you._

The only ones that knew that name, the only ones that called her that were the orcs. No one else. The distant voice, so uncanny and striking, was not orc. It did not sound like Black Speech. In fact it sounded like fire on wind, or wind on water, or how one thought a clear bright night might sound.

"How do you know that name?" Anne asked again, twirling around. She felt no fear as a sense of serenity embraced her, but the sound seemed to be coming from all around her, the location both endlessly distant and so very near.

_Mag'har, I am with you. Take peace with the elves. In time, I will send you again._

Then it was gone.

Anne fell back against the tree. There was a terrible pounding behind her eyes as if she had traveled a long way really fast, as if her gravity was off. That voice. What was it? Did she just hallucinate? Had the voice sent her here?

Anne squeezed her eyes shut not wanting to think about who or what was behind the voice. She sensed no evil from it, but she couldn't trust herself. She felt safest in Mordor for crying out loud. Her emotions couldn't be counted on, but the voice had been so welcoming, so beautiful. Was it God?

Anne laughed out loud at the thought, the sound high pitched and a little hysterical. She was in Middle Earth - beautiful, omnipotent voices could have come from anywhere. It could have been a Valar, but why in the world would they talk to her. Then again, why was she here - a girl from a different earth in this world. That had to merit some importance or at least some interest, right?

But what really interested her more than anything presently was the sword pressed against her neck.

**TBC**


	3. A Fated Meeting

**Standard disclaimer applies. **Well, here's the next chapter. I'm not too happy with it and it's shorter than the others, but hopefully my character is still not too Mary Sue. Let me know what you think if you have the time.

Legolas may be a bit different than what you may expect. I can't exactly remember how he was described in the books, but I think he might have been both kind (to his friends) and egotistical. I mean it kind of fits the personality of a prince, right? Anyway, I based my character on on that. Well, it was that and the fact that I really don't like way most authors seem to write him – overtly kind to humans he doesn't know.

I can't really see elves being super-ultra kind and awesome to humans they have just met. I mean they call us _Atani_ (the second people), _Hildor_ (the aftercomers), and _Engwar_ (the sickly). I don't know about you, but the connotation of these names, while accurate, doesn't seem very flattering. (Go, Age of the Sun!)

I'm not saying that they are unkind to mortals, but I believe they are kind in an 'I tolerate you' sort of way in most cases. It could probably be just me who sees it that like though.

And a few changes, in the last chapter I said she had a bow to her neck. It wasn't until a day after I finally came to see how awkward that would be. Thus, I changed it to a sword. Much better and less awkward.

Also, italics later in the chapter signify that the elves are speaking Sindarin. I don't know the language and I most likely will never learn it. I don't want avid fans correcting my elvish language skills – for my sake and theirs. Haha.

**Orc Queen**

_"The Dark One has called for more troops at the gate." Baghreth spoke to her one evening as she watched the black waves of Nurnen swirl before her. Turning around, hair blowing in her mouth, sand in her eyes, Anne stared at his horribly disfigured face trying to see past his stark voice. He glowered back at her but only for a moment before turning away. _

_"What's going on outside Mordor?" _

_Her stomach curled in excitement and anxiousness, a large, unmoving lump settling at the bottom. Was Gondor safe? Did it happen like Tolkien wrote those many years ago in a place far across time and space? Would Aragorn come to the gates, and what of Frodo and Sam? Was she even in the right time period, or was it another battled that called the orcs to the front? _

_Baghreth did not speak immediately. When he did his voice quaked with malice._

_"Those humans," he spat looking at her with fiery eyes taking a step towards her, his hand raising. Anne stood her ground. If she ran he would give chase. "Your race is coming here to destroy us. The final battle set."_

_"Sauron is evil. It is natural." Anne squared her shoulders preparing for his hand across her face, the taste of blood in her mouth, the pounding pain that never seemed to leave. _

_She waited with open eyes and tried to make her face as neutral as she could, but when a few moments passed and nothing happened she allowed herself to relax slightly. As she did, something strange happened. Baghreth laughed and patted her head. The motion was so strange, so uncomforting her mind froze in fear, and before she could comprehend the action he spoke once more. _

_"Tell me, __**Mag'har**__," he nearly spat, his use of her orc name not lost on her. Pure, uncorrupted they called her not because she was, but because she wasn't. She was tainted just as they were and they knew it, mocked her for it. _

_"Tell me," he said again, his face turned from her, "if we should lose where do we go?"_

Strange that she felt no fear.

Stranger even was the fact that, for a second, Anne swore she could hear Christopher laughing at her._ Always getting into trouble, eh, Anne? You take after me after all._

"Lady," the sword bit the skin of her throat, but even the discomfort of having metal pressed against her didn't stop her ears from ringing. She had not looked away from the stream to see her attacker, a harsh lesson she learned from Hagnok many months ago, about how easily metal could slice skin, but at the sound of the male's deep, musical voice Anne couldn't refrain herself from whirling around.

An elf loomed over her, his face shadowy in the dimness of the forest, but she noted the little things: blue eyes, long fair hair, and his beautiful armor. A large bow was latched across his back, its pale white color, blue in the diffused light, was beautiful to behold.

"A human woman?" A gruffer but not unkind voice boomed from beside the tall elf. A shorter man came into view, his tick beard hiding most of his face so that most of his expression was hidden as he perused her up and down.

"What is an Easterling doing here?"

_Ah, so that was it._ Anne swallowed. Now would have been a great time for Glorfindel to actually show up.

"You are long way from home, lady, and very close to Imladris's borders," the elf began ignoring his companion, his intense green eyes boring into her own.

Is four days close to any border she wandered staring back up to the elf, but it wasn't until she heard the shorter, bearded man laugh did Anne realize that she'd spoken aloud.

"She has a point, my friend." The bearded man hooted. "You elves are very protective of your lands."

The elf slowly retracted his sword, his electric green eyes never leaving her face. "How easily you forget your race, master dwarf."

Anne felt the tiny hairs on her arms raise. _A dwarf? Could it be? _No, her imagination was running away with her, but what other elf would travel with a dwarf? More so, what elf and dwarf would share such camaraderie?

"Your kind hides in mountains and caves where passwords and riddles are required to gain entry," the elf sighed lightly, resheathing his sword, but regarding her suspiciously. "I wonder though at why a human woman from the east would be traveling alone," and the he eyed her weapon, "with an orc dagger?"

"For protection," Anne said the first thing that came to her mind. "And I'm not alone."

The dwarf inspected her dagger from a distance. "A sharp weapon but crudely fashioned. Nothing compared to dwarf craftsmanship."

His words were kind, but Anne sensed that he didn't trust her either. Skin color or orc dagger, both weren't great to have.

"Where are your traveling companions, lady?" The elf asked curiously, his musical voice radiant yet frosty, and before she could even open her mouth he stopped her, holding out his hand for silence.

The dwarf raised his axe when the elf retrieved his bow.

"Keep silent," was his harsh whisper. "Something nears."

Great. Hopefully, it was Glorfindel or the twins. She could even deal with a rabid bear. Anything to shift the attention away from her completely. The elf's stare was more intense than Glorfindel's.

And finally something did come, but it took a while for whatever it was to appear.

"_I see you found our friend, Prince Legolas_."

Glorfindel's voice floated from the trees. What he said Anne had no idea, but she would have known the sound of the elf's voice from anywhere. And then suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, Glorfindel, Elrohir, and Elladan were before them. The twins gave her wide smiles.

"_Lord _Glorfindel, Elladan, Elrohir," the elf beside her said in greeting. "_Well met_._ I am glad to know she is not without escort."_ Legolas intoned diplomatically.

_"Yes, she is traveling with us to Imladris."_ Glorfindel's voice was haunting, the other's voice was deep and musical, and both were thick with authority. _"No harm has befallen her I see."_

_"She was alone when we came across her. Was it not right of me to question __**her**__ proximity to Imladris?"_

Glorfindel gave him a meaningful look before speaking again. _"I find no fault in your actions, Legolas."_

The dwarf inched beside her and whispered. "I do not know about you, lassy, but I find it impolite that they are speaking a language we do not understand."

Legolas laughed heartily at the dwarf's comment and his whole body seemed to glow with the action. The change from before was amazing, almost a complete metamorphosis. If possible, his laughter was even more beautiful than Glorfindel's, and Anne had to look away to keep from staring like an idiot.

"Forgive me, Gimli, do you remember Lord Glorfindel and Elrond's sons, the lords Elladan and Elrohir?"

Anne blinked rapidly at the name. It seemed as if her imagination had been right. All that was left to do was fall in love with the price of Mirkwood - that's how these things worked, right? God save her. Her brain was warm and buzzing and not in a good way. She felt sick.

Meeting characters straight out of a book in her world, main characters, wasn't something she could wrap her mind around despite living in their world for a prolonged period of time. She never expected, dreamed, of meeting them. Elrond, yes. Gandalf, perhaps. But never the other members of the Fellowship, but here two were, right beside her, living and breathing.

Anne closed her eyes and tried to focus on the conversation at hand. She would deal with her thoughts later at a less awkward time.

"We have met both at the council and Aragon's wedding. They were not so long ago, elf." Gimli's word's carried weight. Anne wondered if he was remembering Elrond's Council. The remaining battles of the war had just ended a little less than a year ago, and the events were probably still fresh in their minds. Memories like that never lost their potency.

"_Well met_, Gimli son of Golin." Glorfindel greeted and then looked to her. "I am glad to see you are unharmed."

"You did not cause too much trouble, did you?" Elrohir laughed walking towards her with a comforting smile. She felt Legolas's eyes bore into her side and so she didn't speak once again becoming quiet.

"Brother, you know very well that she never causes trouble."

"Except when she tries to cook," Elrohir disagreed trying to aggravate her. She heard Gimli chuckle. "How will we marry you off when you yourself claim that men appreciate women with culinary talents?"

"The woes of mortality are endless indeed." Anne replied with a quick smile to Glorfindel. "Thanks for coming to find me."

Glorfindel shook his head, his golden mane falling down across his shoulders. "I am glad that it was Prince Legolas who found you and not someone else."

"How was it that you came across," Legolas bent his head towards her coolly.

"Anne." She gave him her name feeling as if she just signed her death warrant. Who was it that said names had power, and that you should never give your name so easily to a stranger?

Whoever it was, Anne felt like they had a point. For some reason, she felt as if Legolas, just by gaining her name, knew her - her lies, her fears, her deepest desires. Maybe she was just being silly, but as he looked at her it was as if a metaphorical noose threaded itself around her neck. There was something singular about Legolas that the books never mentioned; something not quite cruel and not quite kind, something both fascinating and terrifying.

Something she wanted nothing to do with.

"_Well met_, Lady Anne." Legolas did not smile at her as he had done so with the others, but he was polite in a dignified manner as she supposed an elf prince might be taught to act like.

His next words were addressed to Glorfindel. "How was it that you came across the lady, _my friend_, if you do not mind the inquiry?"

"She was a captive to orcs," he explained quietly, his voice soft against the darkening air. "We came across her in our travels back from Gondor in south Dunland."

"Explains the dagger," Gimli chimed in gruffly, nodding his head.

"What dagger?" Elladan asked.

Anne felt the situation should really turn away from her dagger. "When you attacked, I took one from a dead orc," Anne shrugged lying. "I thought it might be good to have."

Legolas eyed her momentarily before speaking. "How long were you with the orcs?"

"I'm not sure. I don't remember a lot of it." _Lies._

Legolas opened his mouth to say something more, but Elladan spoke and effectively turned the conversation.

"Let us return to camp. Night falls soon and I would rather be comfortably situated than _wandering_ around the forest." The sarcasm wasn't lost on Anne especially since Elladan had to gall to wink in her direction.

"I agree. Will you not join us, Legolas, Gimli?" Glorfindel asked warmly.

"I would not mind the company," Legolas said smoothly. "The dwarf grows tiresome."

"Aye," Gimli shot back. "And I have been staring at your plain face for far too long."

"Then it is decided." Glorfindel ended the matter with a smile.

Walking back was about as fun as anything Anne could imagine. Not fun at all, but she stuck next to Elladan and Elrohir and tried not to focus on the prince walking steadily behind her. His eyes burned the back of her head despite his quiet conversation with Glorfindel and Gimli.

"I do not wander around the forest, Elladan." Anne spoke at last when she caught up to the twins eager to focus her attention elsewhere.

The elf glanced at her from his periphery and placed both hands behind his back. "I apologize. You dawdle."

"And walk loudly like the dwarf." Elrohir piped in.

"Dwarves have no need for creeping and crawling everywhere like elves!" Gimli asserted loudly from the back.

From there the conversation exploded into a tiny debate about the merits of silently coming upon your enemy or announcing your presence, a topic of no real interest to Anne, but she enjoyed Gimli's hot replies just as much as the twins enjoyed bating him. It was funny that she used to be much like they were - gay, energetic, playful. She could have had so much fun if she had just met them before everything happened.

One day maybe she would be that girl again.

Maybe one day she would be able to return home.

"I apologize asking about your time with the orcs. It was insensitive of me to bring up painful memories." Legolas was suddenly at her side, his voice light, beautiful, and cold.

Anne couldn't help but notice the difference in how he talked to her compared with the dwarf or other elves and wandered if Glorfindel had put him up this conversation, but on glancing back to the golden lord his face gave away nothing.

"I do not like to think about it much," Anne said slowly staring up at him feeling as if she was walking into a trap and she had to keep her footing. One misstep and she would fall.

Unwavering eye contact.

Open body motions.

And a strong, sedate voice.

The effective way of telling lies and keeping secrets. She had to keep her stories straight while being as vague and poignant as possible.

"Compared to others my trials were nothing."

"You misrepresent yourself, Lady Anne. Pain is pain no matter the circumstance or being it is inflicted upon."

"You're right, my lord." What else was she supposed to say? That she agreed. She did agree, but she didn't want to talk to him longer than she had to. Not with the way he looked at her, not with the way he seemed to know things.

His electric green eyes were too unworldly, too ghostly to be real. Why Tolkien hadn't focused on the elf's strange eyes while he describe in full, extraordinary, and endless detail the landscapes his characters, these people, found themselves in was lost on her. Then again, his novels ended up being more than novels...

He bent forward slightly to regard her profile. The movement caught her attention. "You speak so very little."

"Glorfindel has told me that before."

Legolas smirked. "Glorfindel I have found is fond of conversation. Many centuries ago he was not as he is now."

"People change," Anne found herself saying, "for better or worst, and I don't think elves are any exception."

"In our younger years perhaps," Legolas began his striding matching hers in what must have been an unusually slow pace for him. "But when we grow older we become rather set in our ways."

Anne merely nodded to keep herself from spilling out something sarcastic like: "That sounds so jaded" or "How boring that must be" or "Change is the basis of evolution". That last comment especially wouldn't have gone over well. Explaining about where man came from, at least in her world, would have been like explaining all the concepts of their histories to her in one night.

Exhaustive and incomprehensible.

She hoped their days to Rivendell would be short and fast.

**A/N:** I would like to thank everyone for their reviews, but there is one in particular that I would like to mention since s/he has made a good point.

Q: "Why the hell does Anne care about the orcs - they are 'uncaring, selfish, and ransack everything'?"

A: I agree.

Is that strange for thing me to do? I'm basically agreeing with something that could ruin the whole basis of my story, but I'm really not. I will try to explain this as best as I possibly can without giving away too much.

**Orcs are selfish, they are cruel, but** **they are** **not** **unworthy of redemption**. Tolkien himself expressed this fact in one of his letters saying:

_I nearly wrote 'irredeemably bad'; but that would be going too far. Because by accepting or tolerating their making — necessary to their actual existence — even Orcs would become part of the World, which is God's and ultimately good. That God would 'tolerate' that, seems no worse theology than the toleration of the calculated dehumanizing of Men by tyrants that goes on today._

And in _Morgoth's Ring_, he even goes as far as to suggests while orcs may not be redeemable to according to Elves' and Men's standards, they are on the whole **not** past redemption. He did not see them as wholly evil, but merely as tools of evil much like humans could become. Tolkien wrote once that "we are all orcs in the Great War".

As well, if you don't forget, I am **basing my orcs off** **his second theory** - that they were once elves.

Considering this and more, about a year ago I stumbled cross the idea for this story:

What if someone from our world, unbiased and unprejudiced on the whole to orcs, stumbled in the LOTR world, was taken captive, but instead of hating the orcs tried to understand them.

Yes, they are selfish and cruel and violet, but many humans are these things too and they are not past redemption.

I am just asking you to look past the typical one dimensional brand of orc, the one that is portrayed as violet and hateful, which I can admit they are, and take a deeper look at a race that hates because they fear, they are lost, alone, and corrupted.

If you can understand an orc as both animalistic and 'human', then you will be able to see how it is that Anne can relate to them. Well, not relate but understand. You cannot treat them as human completely, for they are not human but orc, but they have feelings and emotions too. Not in a sappy, dramatic fashion, but in a real, tangible way.

Furthermore, since they are Eru's creation, just corrupted by evil, and if Eru is good then it would follow that they still at least had some good in them. My point is that Eru would not leave one of His creations completely alone in a world that no longer wanted them, that was beyond their control.

This is where Anne comes in. You could call it her destiny. She is not oblivious to their evil deeds, but she has seen beyond it and from their eyes - for in their eyes they fight to survive, to retain some sense of control over their fear of man and elf.

Anyway, I hope that answers your question. Thanks for the review!

(Also, a lot of the information above was taken (like at times copied and pasted) from Wikipedia. Just to get the whole copy right thing out of the way.)


	4. World's Edge

**Standard disclaimer applies. **

This chapter might be considered a filler though I really didn't mean for it to be so. Writing this chapter was difficult, and probably everyone will be able to tell that it's a bit…stale. Or that's how I feel. The characters just seemed a bit bland as I was writing them.

My characters suck.

Kidding. No, I love them, but describing them this time around was like hell on my imagination. For days I stared at a blank page with nothing coming to mind. Then, when ideas did wander around my brain, I was lost as to how to write them down.

I know where I want this story to go, but it's the before part that's screwing me over. The actual love story and how Anne deals with herself until she faces her destiny.

Argh. It's aggravating to say the least, but I want this story to remain, if not realistic, then true to itself. (If that makes any sense?) Basically, expect some chapters to be slow. They might seem like fillers, but they do have a place.

As always, thanks for the reviews, and enjoy!

**Orc Queen**

_The road before her stretched long and far, so far that she could see the curve of the world and then nothing. There were endless plains covered by small, hard plants no taller than her knee and lumpy tuffs of faded green vegetation, but other than these things there was nothing but silence._

_Anne was reminded of southern states, those long road trips she used to take in large buses filled with friends, the horrible movies played on small screens, and the feeling of intense boredom. She couldn't help think on those trips that maybe those long, endless plains was what the end of the world would look like. _

_Barren, hot, and long. _

_Infested by the memories of time past._

_The hot wind sounded like an echoing memory of laughter. The silence was broken._

_She heard the sound of sand and brush, and with nothing else to go on walked forth down the road. The curve of the world was a long way before her, but something called her towards it. _

_The sunless, bright sky intensified with each step, the hot wind continued to laugh, and when Anne looked behind her, to the place she stood only moments before, it had faded to grey as the world before her intensified. _

_And then there was a voice on the wind, different from the laughter, soft and serene. It floated through the dead land like a whisper._

_**"Come."**_

They had not been traveling for more than an hour before they came upon the tracks.

"Orc tracks." Legolas announced bending at the knee to touch the ground. A soft imprint of a familiar print was etched into foliage. Anne felt a zing of fear shoot down her leg.

Glorfindel, as if sensing her emotions, placed a hand on her shoulder. "They are long gone, Anne. You need not worry."

"I'm not worried." Anne countered raising her head to look into his timeless eyes, her breath a whisper on the stale air. She wasn't worried about herself after all but the orcs.

How many times had she told them to be careful? There were not many left in Middle Earth. From Mordor and other lands, orc groups had joined and split again from the sacred place, a spot known to the them as _Uzg Razdnym _- the _empty land_ in Black Speech.

Some orcs left in scouting parties to the north, but most went to hide in the Misty Mountains near Fanghorn. It was one of the last places left that was relatively safe, but even still they had to go deep inside the mountains. The trees had sensed their presence and they weren't welcome.

Anne peered at the ground and footprint. This must have been made by one of the scouting groups. Why they were so far north Anne had no idea. The north wasn't safe for them, and even in the far north, in Forodwaith, peopled watched for them.

"They were here last night." Legolas explained rising from his position and regarding her neutrally before returning his gaze to Glorfindel. "And they travelled swiftly."

"Three days from Imladris." Elrohir thought aloud crossing his arms and regarding his brother seriously. "Far too close for comfort."

"It is not too late to track them." Elladan responded. His voice suggested his thoughts on the matter.

_God, no._ She didn't want to go orc hunting with them and held her breath as Glorfindel answered.

"By their tracks I believe they are headed away from Imladris, and supplies are too low to go after them now." A quick glance in her direction was all Anne needed know. Supplies weren't Glorfindel's main reason for not chasing after orcs. Whatever his reason, Anne was grateful.

"Let us return and refresh ourselves." Glorfindel clasped Elladan's shoulder, his expression softening. "Orc hunting can wait for another day."

"I would not mind using my axe once more." Gimli positioned swinging his axe about in jest, his whole body rocking with laughter. "It has been too long since it has tasted orc flesh. What was the score last count, Legolas?"

Anne didn't hear the elf's response, because _the memories_ assaulted her.

The smell of burning orc flesh mingled with human carcasses, the swarm of flies, the maggots feasting on the dead uncaring of race. She could see clearly in her mind the purple sky of Mordor, empty of flame, and the quiet fall of ash in a dark landscape.

The survivors, the orcs and she, wandering aimless, lost and silent, unnaturally quiet. The feel of blood on her feet, between her toes clotting and bubbling out. The metallic, empty smell would never leave her. Branded on her memory it would stay till the reprieve of death.

If she ever saw another battle it would be too soon. Stories, movies, and pictures were nothing compared to the real thing.

She used to imagine fighting in battle, the glory of standing up for a cause, over powering the enemy, and returning to her friends victorious. She had often imagined herself as the hero in her day dreams in lands far from hers, fantasy worlds of her own imagination, and though she knew the horror of war it was a faint knowledge. A type of factoid one reads in a book, a sterile memory distilled by the passage of time and retold over and over again until all its potency was lost.

Real battles never ended when the last creature fell. They stayed in the mind - endlessly fighting, bleeding, and dying. Tiny parts of her soul eroded everyday only to grow anew and be crushed once more. How people could go back and fight, how they could relish in battle, she didn't understand. It took courage or will or something, some indescribable emotion, to continue forth. How strong would she have to become until the memories no longer crushed her? Acceptance was easy, but living with the acceptance of what happened was painful.

She wasn't courageous. That knowledge might have disappointed her once but not any longer. Above anything, she was practical, and charging into a battle to shed blood for no great cause, for the pure annihilation of another race be they orc or human or elf was illogical, foolish, and malicious.

However, as she stared at the men around her, Anne didn't have it in her to judge them or their reasons. Their opinions were not her own. She had lived far differently than they.

Furthermore, she was human - not an elf or dwarf or anything other type of _magical_ creature. She was a girl of the contemporary age raised on summer popsicles, boy band crazes, subliminal commercials, trips to the zoo, mocha lattes, and the internet. Wars had held no effect on her directly. War had been a word, an event that happened far away from her, an idea for a story until she came here and was thrown into one.

War then became real.

Death became poignant, and she feared and welcomed her end more than ever before.

Death was an action. Nevermore would it be a statement. She would no longer be able to pretend that she was a child. She wept for that piece of herself stolen from her in the cruelest way imaginable. She cried for her grandfather's assaulted innocence during the Great War, for his friends who died, for the children here and back home that never had a childhood.

She wept for the elves who couldn't leave this physical world until the breaking of time. Their memories would stay for millennia upon millennia.

And the orcs who never would be free.

Anne followed the party silently, the twins and Glorfindel in front, Legolas and Gimli behind her, and wondered where the orcs who left the footprints were now. Did they take refuge in the mountains, in deep and dark ravines, or did the force themselves to travel in the light?

No, Anne thought, they wouldn't travel in the sunlight. Light exposed too much, and they were frightened of it. Tolkien never wrote that, but it was true. They couldn't abide by the light, but not for the reasons most people suspected.

The sunlight didn't harm them.

It frightened them.

Orghar, one of the only female orcs she had known, explained it to her once as they traveled by the diffused, twisted light of the moon. The endless passage of rock walls, the sound of echoing foot falls, the harsh whistle of the wind of the Misty Mountains drowned out many of her words, but Anne remembered her bright yellow eyes bleak against the blackness of the night.

Orghar's Black Speech was difficult to follow as she had come from a more northern sect of orcs, and her speech had been both strange and sickeningly alluring. Anne could see her in her mind's eyes: putrefied mouth, gray-green skin pulled over thin bones, her hairless body, and metal clad arms.

"Never us light," her horrid voice strayed over the dark passage of the mountains. "Trees...trees once us were before us now."

"I don't understand." The words hurt her throat to say, the language pulling on her vocal chords so tightly and violently that she coughed.

Orghar's white gray lips pulled over rotting teeth in some silent, terrifying secret. "You never. Will never."

Her statement to this day didn't make sense. There must have been something that was lost in translation, but Orghar never repeated the conversation and left soon after with a scouting party. A month before Anne was taken by the elves, word had come that Orghar along with the group had been with was slaughtered by Beorn and his people.

* * *

><p>"Any dreams last night, Anne?" Glorfindel asked when the sun was high in the sky.<p>

Most of the day had been spent in silence. There had been the occasional conversation, but a comfortable peace had fallen on the group and it seemed that, for the most part, no one was inclined to break it. The only discomfort had been Legolas whose eyes would rest on her for a bit too long, their green depths a little too intense, until she would smile at him to let him know she knew he was watching her.

He wouldn't smile back, but Anne was sure in some way he took her approach as a confirmation of something - a type of silent battle between them. Either way she didn't care for his stares.

Legolas wasn't what Anne expected, but she wasn't disappointed. He lived up to certain expectations - the fair haired prince was beautiful, moved with a grace even beyond his kind, and his voice was strange and alluring and musical. At times, she would catch a hint of a playful smile when he spoke to Gimli or a mocking one when conversing with the twins, but those were moments were brief and disappeared all too soon.

Anne wondered if it had anything to do with her presence. Tolkien described the elf as being way more cheerful than how he was acting.

"Anne." Glorfindel's soft voice pulled her from her thoughts.

Anne shook her head. "I'm sorry, Glorfindel, what did you say?"

Placing his hands behind his back, the golden lord seemed to laugh silently. "You have that look in your eyes again, Anne."

"What look?" Anne frowned trying to think of what could have caused her expression to catch his interest. Well, she had been thinking about Legolas.

"You're about to make me sound like a horrible person again I bet. What is that you say - I have a mocking expression?" A wry smile twisted her lips as she spoke knowing exactly whom she'd been thinking about.

Glorfindel chuckled. "For one so young, your ability to read minds is astounding."

Anne crossed her arms. His light banter was a welcomed relief from her thoughts. "Now who's mocking who?"

Glorfindel leaned in close as if to impart some dreadful secret. "What - or whom - was the object of your reflections?"

Who knew that Glorfindel could be so nosey? Anne was sure he was trying to make her more comfortable with the new members of their group - a rather kind but ultimately unneeded gesture, but the idea of such an old elf trying to make her more at ease made her want to laugh.

Anne was reminded of a mother pushing her child to go play with other children on the playground, and though he wasn't pushing her exactly into a conversation with Legolas and Gimli - and thankfully not onto a seesaw with either one (she would have taken the brunt of the weight in Gimli's case and with Legolas it would have just been plain awkward) - it seemed as if he wanted to ease her into a conversation with them.

How she knew this she couldn't tell, but Anne supposed it was because over the past weeks she'd been in Glorfindel's company the elf had wanted her to speak and interact with them.

She was a woman from a difficult race and culture, and from what she knew of Glorfindel so far he seemed to enjoy listening and learning. And, despite his age, Anne doubted if he had much contact with mortal women. Then again, she could be wrong. He was thousands of years old after all.

"The object of my reflections," Anne hummed raising her brow in mock thought. "Why no one here, Glorfindel. I haven't met anyone interesting in ages!" she joked.

"Now if I remember correctly your first question was if I dreamed last night or something." Because like hell she would reveal that she'd been thinking about Legolas.

"Something of that affect, yes." Glorfindel arch his own brow. "Are you willing to share?"

She pressed her lips together and recollected her dream. The endless plains, the scrubs, the bright but sunless blue sky. By now she was dimly aware of Legolas' eyes on her. The others were listening as well, how could they not when no one else was speaking, but for some strange reason she felt Legolas' eyes more than the others. That piercing gaze, so bright and steady, offered her no relief. What was his deal?

Shaking her head, Anne pushed Legolas out of her mind and focused on the dream. In all actuality, she had begun to enjoy revealing her dreams to Glorfindel when he asked. She assumed it was a part of her old self coming back to life, or that maybe she was just becoming more accustomed to him, but either way Anne felt a thrill of joy in the action.

"All around me there were endless plains," Anne began seeing the image in her mind. "And far off in the distance I could see the horizon and nothing more. The sky was bright but there was no sun and there was a wind that sounded like laughter."

She didn't mention the voice, the memories, or the fading world. Those had been soft and personal, and Anne didn't want to part with them.

"A sky with no sun," Gimli grunted joining the conversation. He stroked his beard while regarding her cheerfully. "An interesting concept, lass. What do you think it means, Legolas?"

Anne turned to the prince and gave him an appraising look, or one she hoped was appraising.

His voice was subdued and his expression peaceful when he answered.

"A light without a source," he mused quietly before his eyes tore through her own, his electric green eyes sharp and direct. "What is it that brightens your day, my lady?"

Her breath caught.

What did suns mean in people's dreams? With difficulty she searched through her memory. On her bookshelf at home, among histories, romance, and fantasies, there were a few psychology books. In those books, she had a dream interpretation book her aunt had given her from some yard sale she'd ransacked in her tireless search for antiques.

For a while Anne had placed the book beside her bed, and in the mornings if she had dreamed something interesting up -spiders, hair, newspapers, storms - she would look it up for the heck of it. Once she had read about what the sun meant in dreams: a masculine sign, a new beginning, the true self, and a symbol of blessing, but there had been nothing about a bright, sunless sky.

What if a dream had no sun?

Anne blinked and focused once more on Legolas. "I'll let you know when I find out."

After all maybe she had to find her sun. Who knew what rested at the edge of the world? "Come" the voice had said.

_"Come."_

**A/N:** _Uzg Razdnym. _Just to let everyone know I made up that place and those words. Okay, well not really. _Uzg_ means land in Black Speech. It was one of the only words I could find, and _razdnym _is part of a word I took meaning empty in Romanian.

For all those who are interested, **I posted a link on my profile page of a picture of Legolas** and how I sort of picture him. It's not a complete resemblance of how he appears in my mind, but I think it's a rather...attractive likeness. (Sans that much armor on.) John Howe is an amazing artist!


	5. The Last Homely House

**Standard disclaimer applies. **

I never knew how hard it was to write a quiet character. Well, lesson learned.

* According to Tolkien, Man and _man_ are different. An elf can be correctly called a _man_ but not a Man; just as Eowyn may be called a Man but not a _man_. In this story, I will use both elf and man interchangeably, because I get tired of writing "the elf this, the elf that".

**Orc Queen**

A month had passed since her arrival in Rivendell, the Last Homely House, and true to its name the settlement was beautiful.

Beautiful but fading; a place slowly eroding, it's magic dissolving with every passing moment. The disintegration of magic or whatever it was that blanked the elven settlement dissipated with every elf that left to the Gray Havens and then beyond, to Valinor.

And she was thankful for that – thankful for the erosion of strange magic that tickled her skin, peppered the air, and polluted her surroundings.

Closing her book, Anne stared at Erestor and his thick, braided dark hair put her own dark locks to shame.

"Erestor, if you'll excuse me. I think I need some air."

The man was as quiet as she was, and since their introduction Anne took solace in his company whenever she felt the press of solitude. She didn't like disturbing him too much, but his gentle manner and mute, grey eyes were always warm and welcoming. He was beautiful as his kind tended to be, but his beauty wasn't like Glorfindel's and Legolas's. Their beauty was like a storm, powerful and uninhibited, but Erestor's beauty, in its own way, was more poignant and almost emotional in quality.

"Thank you for visiting me today, Lady Anne." He bowed his head slightly before returning to his book.

Anne side stepped for a bit, unsure if she should say something or go, but in the end left as quietly as his goodbye. Her footsteps were a breath on marble as she made her way from his study to her own room, and when she closed the heavy, wooden door of her room she slumped against it. Her back pressed against the cool wood, her hands molding against ancient etchings of animals, plants, and the heavens.

Her head pounded, blood heated, and she felt her stomach roll. Anne closed her eyes and breathed in tiny, rapid breaths of clean air. She felt small beads of sweat roll down her back, collect beneath her breast, and drench her hair.

This…this place was too much to bear, and she had no idea why.

It made the waiting difficult. After all, her plan had been to meet Elrond a day or two after her arrival, but her plan had failed to account for his absence. Who knew Elrond traveled? Those damn Peter Jackson movies messed with her mind. She should have expected Elrond to travel, of course; the elven lord _must have_ visited Gondor more than once other than to deliver his daughter to Aragorn before leaving for Valinor.

Anne rasped out a light laugh at her own ignorance. She should have thought about what happened between those years, because it wasn't until her arrival that she was told that Elrond was away visiting his daughter, a fact that the twins and Glorfindel failed to mention while traveling.

So it was made that she had to wait, and her time was her own.

The elves were kind in their soft, gentle way. They treated her as a vague type of guest, a spectator to their daily lives, and she was left to her own devices; which, in a way, was a blessing.

There was a sense of medievalism, Roman strength, and a hint of what in her world would be called faerie to Rivendell that lulled and dulled her senses. The air seemed to simmer and glow in the moonlight and sparkle in the day; it was overwhelming and uncomfortable; such perfection grated on her nerves.

Anne thought she hid her feelings well since no elf spoke of it to her, but in the privacy of her own chambers she didn't hide her nausea or the painful headaches that plagued her in this place. They were becoming more difficult to hide.

Damn, she was so pathetic. She had to be the only person in the entire world to feel sick_ because_ of Rivendell. It was just her luck. Of all the fan fictions, horrible and masterful alike, no one had ever fallen sick because of the atmosphere of Rivendell. For god sake's, this place was the very opposite of Mordor; a place of light, joy, and comfort. She hadn't suffered like this in the prison camps. The black country offered her a special type of suffering, one that was a mixture of psychological and physical. Here, it was only the physical, but yet it...

Anne shook her head. Maybe Mordor corrupted her more than she imagined. Even now she could feel it's presence in her heart, in the depths of her mind, where the suffering continued. Her time there was a stain on her soul, a madness waiting to erupt, kept back by the strength of her soul.

_The horror! The horror!_

The horror of man's own brutality, of psychosis, and evil rang in her ear, the inscrutable buzzing of a fly. Anne turned her thoughts away, because to think of it would be to acknowledge her own darkness. The black part of her soul, in all souls, which had unceasingly haunted her since Mordor. Once she had prided herself for her ability to distance herself from that brutual part of herself thinking of herself as good, true, and, she shuddered at the thought now, better than most people. She had been egotistical about her own goodness, if she ever had such a quality, but it had been nothing more than pride. That same pride had been her downfall, her _hamartia_. Pride was a foolish thing to cherish, and so easily disproven.

No one was exempt from evil.

But perhaps it was something else, something far less concrete. Much like how food tasted differently, could her reactions be caused by that unidentified quality that had to do with her not being of this world? Still, no amount of knowledge could ease her discomfort, and Anne dreaded bringing it up to anyone. What could she say: "Sir Elf, while this place is beautiful I cannot stand it. I must live somewhere else so if you would be so kind as to take me away."

She couldn't say that, but hoped the discomfort would subside in time much like a potent drug that's effectiveness wore off after prolonged exposure.

In the meantime, she spent most of her time in the forest, far away as she could from the cluster of houses of Rivendell, because only there did she find peace. She could breathe easily fresh, undiluted air that was not ultra purified by the souls of elves, whom she walked on eggshells around.

Anne hated herself for doing so, but they were so alien and strange. A few she could deal with without judging herself or her humanness, but in a multitude their beauty was a thunderous force. She was racing towards death, they were immobile in life, and she could feel, almost taste, the divergence of their species.

There were other dissimilarities as well.

Her skin color, her mannerisms, her very humanness did not appeal to them like their own kind did, but they were kind and generous…and distant. It was unexplainable and intangible, but they held themselves from her. Nevermore firmly had Anne wanted to be that girl she was so many years ago. Their distance would have meant nothing but a passing obstacle, a challenge to overcome, and she knew that she could have won at least some of their hearts.

She wasn't that girl, but Anne couldn't stop herself from daydreaming about how different her life would be if she hadn't changed into the cautious, quiet person she was now. It was somewhat lame, but at least she could still laugh at herself. She took comfort in that fact.

And so her days went; endless, tedious, and uncomfortable.

Glorfindel had his duties to attend – what they were she had no idea, but he made the most effort out of all to see her at least once a day, and the twins were often away as well. Gimli she would run into as she wandered aimlessly down corridors, and he always was pleasant and seemed glad to see her. She also had the chance to meet Bilbo whom she would also meet at times during her aimless wandering or in one or another of Rivendell's libraries.

The hobbit was always busily doing something, but had generously offered to teach her how to read Sindarin when he had the time. Anne hadn't the heart or the desire to learn elvish, why she didn't know, but Bilbo had looked at her with wide, gleaming eyes she hastily blurted out: "Yes, of course. I would love to learn whenever you have the free time".

He hadn't had the time yet.

Legolas she saw only rarely at meal times and only when she chose to attend. When the days became too long to bear, the beat of loneliness and solitude became like a dense cloud of fog that she couldn't escape, only then would she take her meals with everyone, but even during those times she felt alone. More alone than she'd ever felt, because she had no purpose, no responsibility to bind herself to her hosts.

The elves refused her help in polite ways, and it was only later that Glorfindel assured her that was just their way. Allowing a guest to do work was unheard of and, as he said, she should allow for them to care for her. Silently Anne understood his unsaid message. Her willingness to help was, in itself, a type of rudeness.

It was just her luck after all. Sometimes life sucked.

Anne sighed and leaned over her balcony breathing in the fresh morning air and abruptly coughed forgetting her rule of breathing slowly. Her chest expanded and contracted painfully, the purified air burning her lungs.

"Sometimes I'm not as adaptable as I think." Anne mused to herself rubbing her chest.

Walking away from the balcony, she made her way down to the lower levels and said a few greetings to those whom passed her. How many times had she wanted to start a conversation? Why couldn't she been more like a damn Mary Sue? At least then maybe she wouldn't feel so alone. She would be able to swill ale with Gimli as she'd often seen him do at dinner. Ladies, she could only assume, never partook of the drink. She had never witnessed a female so much as sip the beverage as she wanted too oh so badly.

If she were any braver, any less cautious, she would have just done it respectability be damned. Anne smiled as she skipped down a few steps. One day she would just sneak out a pint or so. No one would notice. It took more than a measly pint of beer to get her buzzed though that idea did have its own merits.

Anne laughed lightly to herself as half forgotten, half remembered memory seized her thoughts.

"_You're such an alcoholic. You need help, stat! I'm calling AA first thing in the morning for you." She said to Angela reaching across the black-top bar and yanking her drink away. The smoke from Angela's cigarette billowed slowly up meshing with the stale smoke of the bar. Above a blue, chipped fan in need of repair beat the air dully._

"_Look who's talking, you lush. How many bottles of beer have you had so far?" Angela quipped snatching her drink in return. "Probably too much for a normal person to handle."_

"_Now that's just a rude question." Anne paused considering, a wide toothy smile spreading her face as she threw back head in laughter. "It's like asking a woman how old she is, it's just not done. Rude."_

"_Bullshit. Don't make up fake etiquette rules."_

The memory was gone like a wisp of wind; the edges becoming hazy and fragmented as it mixed together in a crucible of memories from different times, but the feeling of happiness, of endless contentment raced through her blood. One day she wanted to have that feeling again. One day she would.

"I am determined." She whispered to herself as she stepped out of the shade of buildings and let the sun warm her face, her arms, and hair. Anne lifted her hands above her body and, in a childish, fanciful moment, reached for the golden sun. Yes, one day everything would be better.

She had faith, and even in her darkest hours it never left her.

* * *

><p>"Anne."<p>

Turning Anne caught Glorfindel swinging down from Asfaloth in one smooth motion. The golden bay stuffed his nose into her open hand softly neighing for attention.

"Glorfindel," Anne said by way of greeting combing her fingers through his horse's mane. "How was your ride?"

"Exhaustive," he mentioned causally dusting off his cloths. "I am more interested in hearing about what you have been doing today. I hope you did not cause any more scandals."

Casting a sly glance at him because of his teasing, Anne replied in the same glib manner. "I spent a lot of time in the forest doing nothing in particular."

Anne said it jokingly, but her words hid a deeper, truer meaning, and she kept her smile fixed when he glanced at her questioningly. He was beginning to understand her more and more, the things she left unsaid; it was a comfort and terror, but more than anything, more than the discomfort of being known by another, she was content.

She could talk with him. Not just speak to him, but talk with him as if he were a friend back on regular earth. Glorfindel eased the tension of loneliness, and Anne regarded her cadence of speech with him as a stepping stone. She couldn't joke with him as she had done with Angela, Chris, or hell, even strangers like she had be able to do years ago, but it was a start. Anne could work with a start.

"You are not a sociable thing are you?" Glorfindel teased gently, mussing her hair affectionately.

"Not at this time," Anne glared trying to fix her hair in vain. "And don't mess with my hair. You know how hard curly hair is to deal with?"

"Afraid I am ignorant about curly hair, Anne." He bowed in mock apology. "As you have probably observed, elves only have straight hair, but your hair is very interesting."

"You don't have to flatter me," Anne laughed crossing her arms. "I deserve an apology," at his raised brow Anne added: "A proper one – for both saying I'm unsociable and messing up my hair, because, just so you're informed, curly hair is notoriously difficult to manage."

"But I cannot believe that you ever were sociable," he chuckled lightly in return, his golden hair fanning his face. His whole body seemed to emanate with light.

"I was at one point." Anne pressed unsure why she wanted someone to know, someone to realize that she was more than she seemed now.

"Anne, come now!" He retorted walking Asfaloth into the stable and motioning for her to follow. "You, such a quiet girl, talkative? I would have very much liked to seen it."

"I was very talkative. Besides, I talk to you."

"Never. I cannot believe it, but if you say so it must be true. Then a wager." He laughed. "How many people will you be able to speak with at dinner? Let us decide the rules."

Anne shook her head. "I am no longer that girl."

Though she had almost been with the orcs, but then it had been more of a…different type of socialization; a harsh, unwavering type of socialization, but, at least, Anne thought, she hadn't been as quiet or subdued as she was with her new group. There wasn't a need to be such a wilting flower, to hide things about herself from them. In fact, her very survival had depended on it.

"Anne, why are you no longer that girl?" His voice brought her back to the present.

Anne frowned looking at him questioningly and then her features lightened in understanding. He was asking a lot from her, the deep look in his eyes probed her gently, egged her on, and Anne willingly took the bait. She wanted to move on and he was offering her a chance.

She'd faced worst. Sharing something about her past wasn't as hard as surviving; though at times it had been. Giving pieces away from her soul had always been a struggle, but seeing Glorfindel so willing and able to listen Anne couldn't help but feel grateful.

She stared at his golden horse and placed a hand on Asfaloth's flank before answering, keeping her voice light and happy. "Oh yes, I never told you did I?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "Was it the orcs?"

Anne's expression went from light to guarded. She'd been around enough people who hated orcs to cover her hurt and anger, but it was always tough not to say something back.

Anne lifted her head. "No, it was not the orcs."

_It was never the orcs_.

"What happened?" his voice was inquisitive. He liked listening to her, and since Anne wanted to talk to someone, for so long she wanted to talk, she decided why the hell not. If she was ever to be happy, embrace a happy future, logically she knew she would have to open up somewhat.

"I guess it was Mordor." Anne saw his face tighten with worry and despair, and she found herself reaching out to touch his arm.

"I was by the Sea of Nurnen for two years in a slave camp. A person by such evil for so long..." she sighed rubbing her arms in habit. "One must change to cope. I coped and survived. Others did not."

_And what I am is a result. _Anne added silently. One screwed up, whiny girl who was too cautious to make friends, to be herself, in this new world…Anne snorted mentally at her thoughts. She'd done enough pity-partying today.

"What happened after? How did you come to be with the orcs?"

Anne smiled and faced away from him. Like she would tell him she chose to go with the orcs over her own kind. She wasn't willing to be so open yet, and even if she was Anne didn't think he could appreciate her sentiments regarding the orcish race. Maybe some day, some day far away she would be able to tell her story to him, when time had passed and left only invisible, forgotten bruises, and eased pain.

"Many things happened afterwards," Anne began with a light shrug, her smile wry. "But they're really not that important. Glorfindel, I didn't tell you this so you could pity me. I just wanted to share."

Glorfindel was quite for a moment as he brushed down his horse. The silence in the stables was soft and mild. Golden beams of sunlight streamed through the windows up high near the ceiling, illuminating thousands of particles of dust and mounds of hay stacks. The dust danced in the warm glow, shifting in tender gusts of air, and it was in the silence Glorfindel spoke again.

"How did you survive Mordor?" His blue eyes were both unfathomable and burning.

Panic seized her, but he must have read her expression as confusion because he quickly explained himself.

"I felt the darkness from Gondor even long after the last battle." There was a combination of concern and strain evident in his expression. "How did you survive such darkness, Anne?"

The Nurnen Sea swept passed her vision and, like a tunnel, quick and fast, she was swept back into Mordor. The pressing darkness, the stifling feeling of despair, hatred, and madness that many people fell to and never came back from. He wanted to know how she survived that madness.

It was the sea, Anne thought, remembering. The black sea reminded her of bluer seas, of the ocean, of happy memories.

Memories of sunshine, burning sand, colorful umbrellas, and ice-chests filled with sandwich meat and strawberries. She had been able hear her mother's warnings about not straying too far into the ocean, her father burying her brother neck deep in sand, and her sister and she swimming out as far as they dared until the waves became too violent and large.

Those were summers that lasted forever but passed in a blink of an eye. The smell of salt, of fish, and moist wind had called to her from her memories. The sound of crashing waves, the taste of salt water in her mouth, the sight of thunder in the distance - those were the memories that sustained her sanity in Mordor. That would continue to sustain her when times became too dark, when the future seemed bleak, and the present became hard to bear.

Her mind opened and the dizzying air distilled her thoughts in the silence. They came easily and fluidly; the memories that helped her.

Driving at midnight through brightly lit highways, a satellite passing through the stars, the sticky floors in movie theatres, iced coffee that chilled her teeth, watching YouTube videos, and bar nights when she could just relax and shoot back a couple of beers with her coworkers.

With her eyes closed, Anne could almost see each memory perfectly, live them over and over again, but they were only memories and as much as she wanted she couldn't live in the past. Not in Mordor, not in Rivendell. Memories helped, but they were like water. Easily lost and remolded. In Mordor, she was forced to embrace something stronger, a force that didn't let her go even when she wanted to lose herself in a quagmire of despair and anguish.

Regarding Glorfindel, snapping back to the present, Anne offered him a large smile trying to ease his tension, and repeated the words ingrained into her memory from her childhood; a cliché saying, both relevant and powerful.

"Faith, hope, and love," Anne answered leveling her eyes towards him, her expression powerful and steady.

"In what?"

"In myself, in others, but mostly…" Anne turned her face up towards the rafters of the stable, where the sunlight was brighter and fuller, and felt his eyes on her watching, waiting. She shook her head. "But mostly in God."

"God?" He tasted the name on his lips again. "This is the name you call Eru, correct?"

Turning towards him, she let herself smile as she had once done. The sun washed over her face and for a brief instant Anne felt like herself. His blue eyes altered as he regarded her; surprise or some similar emotion as he watched her.

"Of course, Glorfindel, in Eru."

**A/N:** If you haven't noticed already, this story is heavily character based. It won't always be as such, but I think it's important to build up your characters. I may be doing a little too much building up.

Anne is one of the hardest characters I have ever written I think, and I don't know why. I hope though you don't think her as too whiny or sentimental. I'm trying to dig out her true potential, because, as she is now, the story won't be able to progress. She needs to face her demons whatever they may be.

Oh, and props to those who got the "The horror! The horror!" reference. It comes from _Heart of Darkness_, one of my favorite books of all time.

Anyway, thanks for reading.


	6. Pleasure of the Palace

**Standard disclaimer applies.**

Umm.

Sorry this chapter took so long, and it's probably not even worth getting exciting over. I'm not quite sure about the last part of this chapter, but what I did enjoy was writing Anne and Biblo interact in the beginning. There are probably typos too – again, sorry about that.

Anyway,  
>Enjoy!<p>

**Orc Queen**

When she entered the banquet hall, Anne felt his eyes on her almost immediately. The feeling of being watch – no, being analyzed never failed to make her squirm in her skin. After living with orcs for so long very little nowadays made her too anxious, but Legolas' persistent regard was sometimes more than she could chew.

He did this to her almost every time they were in the same room – the prolonged staring. He wasn't strange about it; she was sure no one even noticed it, but it was a point of concern and apprehension. One would think she would have been used to it by now for pity's sake! But still she couldn't shake the feeling he and his stares gave her. They were like a silent, unannounced battle, and she refused to give in; something inherent told her that it was important not to falter in this.

That didn't mean she wasn't tired of it though.

Anne didn't know what game the prince of Mirkwood was playing, but as much as it concerned her from time to time she was more or less sick of it. At times it seemed like he was searching for something deep inside her soul, some lie or truth. It was obvious he didn't trust her. Those analytic green eyes bore a heavy weight against her breast, and more than once Anne wished she had the courage to confront the man about it. If she were braver, more like Angela, or at least like a person who had nothing to lose…but no, she wasn't that person. She had to stay calm and centered. If a chance for her to speak with the elven prince presented itself then she could (and would) bring up the topic, but until that time she would keep her silence.

Rocking the boat wouldn't gain her any favors or rewards. She was on his territory, a world vastly different from the one she was birthed into and the one she had forced to live in with the orcs. Elves were different, and she was still new to their ways. Sighing, Anne ripped her thoughts away from the prince deciding then and there to focus her energies elsewhere for the moment.

Squaring her shoulders, Anne returned Legolas' watchful gaze and held his eyes until he turned to speak to someone next to him. She felt her heart slow back from its rapid fluttering and pressed her sweaty palms to her dress. She won this battle, but there was always another one with him. She honestly didn't know what his intentions were, and that was the worst part of the whole ordeal. What did he want or hope to gain from his watchfulness? Did he want to expose her? There was nothing he could expose unless he called her out her lies, but then there was really no way to prove it.

Wait. Didn't she just decide not to think about the prince anymore? What a weak will she had. Anne frowned taking her seat quietly at the end of a long table and tried to shift her attention elsewhere. She was failing miserably in the endeavor until a hobbit distracted her.

"Terribly sorry," Biblo hopped up onto the seat next to her, his smile shy and warm. "I have not been able to teach you any Sindarin yet."

Anne looked from him to the tables further up the hall. "Shouldn't you be in your usual seat, master hobbit?" At his arched bushy brow, Anne felt a smile tug her lips. "No offense but I'm not the best dinner companion and it tends to get rather drafty down here."

"My girl," he said patting her hand affectionately. "Is that a polite way of calling me old, because I can assure you we are the youngest people in this room. Us youngsters have to stick together you know," he winked.

His sagging face and thick white hair reminded her of her grandfather and, as always with him, Anne felt herself uncoil throwing back her head in a laugh that garnered people's attention. She felt Legolas's eyes, but ignored him as she wiped her eyes. She had better things to do than have weird staring contests with him as _exhilarating_ as they were.

"Your logic is sound, Mr. Biblo." And because she was running out of things to say, and was worried about boring him or having the conversation turn awkward, Anne asked him about his adventures that she'd heard so much about from everyone. She didn't of course as it was her mother that read to her and her siblings _The Hobbit_, but he didn't need to know all the details about_ that_.

And so he did. For quite a while.

Anne liked listening to Biblo retell his adventures. There was a quality of nostalgic, of reality that came when listening to a story first hand, and Anne enjoyed herself immensely as they conversed through dinner. Biblo never pressured her to join the conversation, but his enthusiasm with words could break anyone of their silence.

He just finished describing the trolls turning into stone when Anne touched his hand. "Thank you for eating with me, Mr. Biblo."

Most of the time she ate mostly alone, partaking in just a few conversations around her that she couldn't relate to very well at all, and though she suspected the hobbit ate with her because he felt a little sorry for her pitiful state, Anne also knew that he did it with kindness of one friend to another. Besides, he had enough conversation in his little body to go around.

"Nonsense, my dear, I just hate seeing you eat all alone. Food and conversation is what we hobbits are best at. Can't stand to see dull people at dinner – not that you are dull, my dear, oh no, that is not what I mean at all. Forgive me if you thought so, but it ruins the appetite you see and-"

Anne chuckled leaning her head on a closed fist. She adored the hobbit when he couldn't stop words from tumbling out of his mouth, a constant flow of bubbly conversation, and was sad that she only had the pleasure of seeing it twice before – once when they were first introduced and second when she caught him sneaking food out of the kitchens late at night. He was precious, and she couldn't help but tease him from time to time. She'd always had a knack for teasing people. She couldn't help it.

"Want to take a breath there, Mr. Biblo? I don't want you choking on your tongue and everyone blaming me." It was easy to fall back into her sarcasm with Biblo as he never took offense and was always in such good humor.

He squinted up at her. "Cheeky. You are quite a cheeky woman. Would have never guessed when I first met you. Thought you were polite as a princess too. I should have known first impressions aren't reliable, I'm not a young rascal anymore."

"Oh," she raised a brow. "Wasn't you who said we were the youngest in here?"

Biblo chuckled taking out his pipe and sucking on it for a bit. As he spoke, the fragrant smoke billowed out of his mouth.

"All a matter of perspective, dear." He patted her hand. "You must have been a handful for your parents, eh? You remind me of little Lila Hamwich, formerly of Loamsdown." He puffed on his pipe again. "She married, oh, some time ago I believe, Drogo Brambleburr of Bindbale Wood. Quite a scandal you know."

"I don't know." Biblo chucked at her tone. "Who is Lila Hamwich?"

And he went off onto another story that lasted the rest of dinner and into dessert.

She barely registered Legolas' intermitted attentions.

* * *

><p>The next day Anne found herself relaxing in Erestor's company. With nothing else to do she found herself doodling on a piece of parchment looking off into space. Swirls, ribbons, stars, flowers, and fragments of half remembered sentences appeared sporadically across the page and reminded her of those long lectures back in college where her professors lost her attention in the first twenty minutes of class and she ended up drawing smiley faces and ice cream cones on the borders of handouts.<p>

A daydreamer by nature, she found there was a soothing quality about the movement of pen on paper that couldn't be attained without it. The motion allowed her mind to wonder but remain somewhat focused on the objects and events around her so that she was never too far from the topic on hand, which came in handy when people surprised her with questions.

She was just beginning to remember her childhood drawing table, nothing more than a cheap, blue plastic contraption, when she realized that Erestor was standing next to her. He was staring at her parchment.

"Umm," she began moving the stylus between her fingers nervously. "Erestor?"

"May I?" He asked motioning for her page of doodles and scrawl, his beautiful black eyes bright with interest.

"Oh, of course. Here!" Anne exclaimed pushing the paper towards him. He set it in front of him and regarded it strangely. "Is there something that caught your attention?" Anne worried thinking quickly over what could catch his notice. Her drawings of flowers and ribbons were pretty decent but in no way extraordinary.

"What is this language?"

"Language?" Anne parroted inching her chair over. Along with her pictures she had also written out some sentences. It made sense then; he was interested in the words not the pictures…

Her face paled. How many languages did Erestor know, and what language had she been writing? Trying and failing to look nondescript as possible as she eyed her work – _stupid, stupid, stupid_! – Erester turned to her with one of his quiet smiles.

"Glorfindel mentioned in passing your education." He regarded the paper curiously holding it aloft in his pale hands. "Though, I have never seen this written language before. Is a dialect of the Easterlings?"

She was speaking Westron, but her sentences were written in English. When she had first come to Middle Earth, the other slaves spoke to her in Westron. Thankfully, the language had been similar enough to English that she could understand most of what they were trying to tell her, but the two languages still differed in many aspects. English and Westron, as far as she could make out, were related in the same way as Spanish and Portuguese were. On the other hand, the written Westron was vastly different from English, the only similarity being the characters, and Anne didn't even want to think about grammar usage.

Staring at Erestor, Anne tried to gauge his expression and forced herself to hold back a nervous swallow. She didn't want to lie, but there was really no choice. At the same time she didn't want to be caught in a lie. Darn.

"I'm not sure if they even are a language to be honest," she began looking at Erestor from underneath her lashes, biting her lip in a universal sign of thought. "I remember my dad writing them, at least some of them, from a long time ago."

Erestor frowned slightly. "Did your father ever reveal their meaning to you?"

Did he believe her? Anne wasn't sure and she didn't want to take any chances. Bending slightly she shook her head back and forth asking with a slight upward arm motion to see the paper again. Looking at the words she touched them. At first, she wanted to pretend to be caught by a childhood memory, but slowly as she read the poem came together in jostled, clumsy fragments of life and she really did being to remember.

"_Oh, think upon the pleasure of the palace:_  
><em>Secured ease and state, the stirring meats,<em>  
><em>Ready to move out of the dishes,<em>  
><em>That e'en now quicken when they're eaten,<em>  
><em>Banquets abroad by torch-light, musics, sports,<em>  
><em>Bare-headed vassals that had ne'er the fortune<em>  
><em>To keep on their own hats but let horns wear 'em,<em>  
><em>Nine coaches waiting. Hurry, hurry, hurry!"<em>

How or why she remembered part of that tragic play of Italian court intrigue she really couldn't say, but the last line she had scribbled over and over again. Years ago she read a book of the same title, a haunting, gothic romance whose pages epitomized the feeling of unbound tragedy, unfettered fear, and the distress and bliss of the unknown.

_Nine coaches waiting. Hurry, hurry, hurry!_

She had no coaches, but Anne felt as if something was waiting for her. Keep your footing and your head and don't be lured by material delights and you'll be safe – she wanted to believe that very much, but what if someone had to take that plunge to move forward even if it was to their utter doom?

A laughed bubbled from her throat as she handed the paper back to Erestor. What kind of stupid thoughts floated around her head? The snippet from the play had only been an unconscious memory, most likely brought upon by her discomfort in Rivendell. Nothing more or less.

Pleased with her conclusion, Anne offered up a small smile. "Forgive me, Erestor, I was just remembering." Though she kept what she was remembering to herself so it rightly couldn't be called a lie.

Erestor regarded the paper silently before letting his eyes linger on her. "There is nothing to apologize for, Anne, memories are a blessing of the mind to cherish," he said taking a seat next to her. "What did your father teach you, if you do not mind sharing?"

"Snippets here and there, whatever he was learning, but there was never any true regimented schedule." She said waving her hand around flippantly. Again, not a lie as most parents did teach their children something educational here and there.

"Do you know how to read Westron?" Anne shook her head and watched as Erestor's beautiful, calm face broke into an equally calm and beautiful smile. "Would you like to learn?"

Anne nodded. After all, Erestor was nothing less than a teacher. Besides, writing in the common language would probably be useful at some point.

**A/N:** The quote comes from _The Revenger's Tragedy_, though my knowledge of it came from Mary Stewart's _Nine Coaches Waiting_. Great novel for those who like Jane Eyre (and even those who don't!).


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